Style Angst (tm)
by booni.or.smthn
Summary: I have a lot of angst that I write about Style but it never really sees the light of day, so... [Stan x Kyle, Style, Kyan, Marshlovski, whatever you wanna call it]
1. So Goddamn Sorry (Drabble)

"I'm so goddamn sorry that you couldn't even talk to me about this like a normal fucking human, Stanley! I'm so fucking sorry!" Kyle shouted across the room, tears swelling up in his eyes. It wasn't just about Sparky having a boyfriend or whatever anymore; no, it was much worse. Things had escalated farther than they ever should've, and every emotion Kyle had ever had towards the noirette across the room from him was spilling out heavily as if Stan had just opened a floodgate. "And you never even talk to me anymore! It's like I don't fucking matter to you, because you wanna keep sliding your filthy-ass tongue down her throat, huh? Because my fucking best for our dog wasn't good enough, apparently. So why don't you go back to her, huh? Just give her all the credit!"

He wanted the shouting to stop, but no matter how much he tried to clog his throat, words spilled out in choked-up sobbing and hate-fueled shouting. But he couldn't stop shouting. It was like a gun fight, except they both were just firing their guns in the air as to scare each other off. They didn't mean a word of what they were saying. Well, at least, Kyle didn't. But maybe Stan had meant everything he said. Maybe he truly believed it all.


	2. Sparky

Sparky was sitting at Kyle's feet, being stroked by the fragile boy's hand as Stan did something in the Marsh kitchen. It was supposed to be another day where they just hung out and talk about nothing and everything at once. But something seemed off that day, like a soda bottle that had been shaken up but not opened.

"Did you feed the dog?" Kyle asked as Stan came back into the living room and sat in his dad's chair with a beer in his hand.

"Mmm… that's your job, Kye," he mumbled. Stan had been now reclined in the wine-stained chair his dad sat in every night. The only reason Dad wasn't there tonight was because he and Mom were out at the theatre, seeing some dumb play that Kyle never bothered to remember the name to.

"Is everything my job once you start drinking?" the redheaded boy chuckled, clearly not being serious.

"Dunno."

"Well, my point is, you could've done it earlier, Stanley." Kyle would only pull out the Stanley Card when he needed the other boy to take him seriously, just because he knew how much he would sound like Sharron if he called his best friend by his full name all the time.

"Nah. Wends was over. No time," the noirette chuckled, earning a grimace from the redheaded boy. Every time Stan slurred the word "Wendy," it was like a chunk of Kyle's heart would flake off and in its place it'd leave the heaviest material to ever be conceived. Now, don't get it wrong, he knew why Stan dated Wendy. She had it all; brains and looks. Also, she knew how to fuck, according to Stan. No, the problem came in when Wendy started to replace Stan. That's when he started to just cringe at her name and despise her guts.

"Wendy. Right. How is she?" was all he could muster without going off.

"She good. Not dead. Still hot," Stan sighed, taking another drink of his beer.

"Mm. And she didn't at once think, "hey, y'know, this dog I'm petting, he needs to eat and I doubt Stan will feed him because Kyle Broflovski, the school dork who had somehow winded up being friends with my hot boyfriend, is super responsible with his children," right?" It was supposed to be a joke, but the way his snake tongue got the best of him, spitting out subtextual vermin, was just not working for him.

"No need to getcha knot in a panti- your panties in a knot, heh…" the boy in the recliner snorted.

"Hey, all I'm saying is that I'd like to spend maybe twenty seconds with you, no Wendy included? Is that really so much to ask?" He really didn't want to be hissing at Stan, but that'd be the best way to describe it had he not be dryly laughing.

"Sparky likes Wendy, though—"

"Oh, so now we're using Sparky?" Okay, so that was definitely a hiss.

"Sorry, Kye, you know I didn't mean to…"

"I don't give a fuck if you didn't mean to. Bottom line is, Stanley, that I bust my ass taking care of our dog, and you wanna give her the goddamn credit?"

"What the hell, man?"

Kyle was now standing up, picking up his things before he felt a hand graze to his shoulder.

"Fucking forget it, okay?" he shouted, "Fucking forget it. You wanna go shove your tongue down her ass? Go a-fucking-head. Just tell her I said I love you and I tried to stop you, but you have her all the credit anyways, asshole." Sure, maybe it was rash, but after two… six… almost ten years of being almost there and then being shown the one thing keeping you from your goal on full blast as if to taunt you in a repetitive cycle can do some damage.

"Kye, I didn't mean to…"

"Of fucking course you didn't mean to! But I'm fucking selfish for wanting to see my goddamn friend for—"

There's nothing else to say.

It was all there now.

What else were they supposed to say? Sorry?

No. Of course not.

You're jealous of Wendyyy…"

"Yeah, no shit, asshole."

"Y'know, she thinks we act like, uh… fuckin… a married couple sometimes."

"Are you actually fucking serious?"

"Uh-huh."

"I take care of Sparky all the time like he's our goddamn child, of course we act like a married couple."

"Mmm… can we get married, please? Not now, but like…"

"What? Wait, what about Wendy?"

"Was gonna break up with her I guess. She's kinda, uh… she always wants to do things, right? 'nd I don't want to do em. Like sometimes she wanna do somethin' like, uh… She's been tryna get in some kinky shit… but I dunno man, I'm just not into it? Maybe I'm gay, heh…" there was an underlying tone of dread in Stan's voice, as though he was certain this was going to be exactly what happened.

"Maybe," was all Kyle could muster in response. He was tired from shouting and being angry.

"Dude, we should try—"

"No! You're drunk! We can't do anything now," Kyle shouted defensively, calming down towards his last sentence.

"If I sober up?" Stan giggled as though he'd just been poked in the rib.

"What're we even gonna do?" the boy on the couch asked, already knowing what he was going to say.

"Fuc—"

"No! No. Not yet. Not until you break up with Wendy, at least, I just…" Kyle explained. He didn't want Stan to cheat on Wendy, really. It wasn't about Wendy, even, it was just that Wendy was intimidating as all hell and Kyle didn't want to die yet.

"Nmm… why nooot? I wanna know if I'm gay."

"You just practically proposed to me, and you're still asking if you're gay?"

"Yeah, but I mean, even if it was like just for platonic reasons, y'know, I'd wanna spend my life with you. Wendy's hot, don't get me wrong, but…"

"But?"

"I dunno. She's good, too, like, at—"

"You don't need to explain," Kyle shuddered.

"M'kay… I just wanna like…"

"Stan, do you want some water?"

"Heh, yeah, I think I do."


End file.
